Therapy
by TheJesusFreak777
Summary: George is dying on the inside, losing the internal war he is fighting. His psychiatrist offers a solution, but will he take it?


A/N: I have to admit, I got a lot of this from different fanfics I found and I collaborated them together.

Dear Fred,

It's honestly very weird writing to you. You're dead. So...why am I doing this?

My therapist, Shelby Dean, thinks it's a good idea to try to talk to you. At first I told her she was mad. Shelby was adamant, though. She says I suffer from something called post-traumatic stress disorder. Muggles get it a lot when they come back from war. Every night when I shut my eyes...I see you lying dead next to Lupin and Tonks, and the world is falling apart around me all over again. Sometimes I have visions of awful things... I tried to jinx Crookshanks yesterday, because I thought he was a Death Eater. He's got a black tail now. I'll let Hermione fix it when she finds out. Other times it's been much worse. I attacked Mundungus Fletcher once, because I thought he was trying to kill me when actually he was selling me illegal mushrooms, whose essence we use in some of our newer potions. I guess I'm more like Mad-Eye now.

It's been nearly a year. About ten months, actually, because today is our birthday. April first. You know, if this were an April Fools' prank, it'd be bloody brilliant. I think I would hit you first and then laugh and cry at the same time, because for the past ten months I have been wandering through Purgatory.

I'm at King's Cross right now, actually. I'm going to your grave. You're buried on Hogwarts grounds, and I'm going to be buried right next to you when I die.

Let's see... It's been a long ten months. At first I drank a lot. We stayed in Hogsmeade for a week until all the funerals were finished. Percy and I got in a fight... We were both drunk, and I started yelling at him, and somehow all the windows in the flat busted out and Percy broke his nose and I was in an alley, shaking all over and holding a firewhiskey, and Ginny ran away. When I sobered up I found her the next morning, crying her eyes out in the Hog's Head. I don't know what happened. Shelby says I am struggling with alcoholism. I've been sober for two months now, so I suppose that's an improvement. Alcohol withdrawal is hell, though.

There's been a severe lack of mirrors in the Burrow, along with joking, laughing, and happiness. I refuse to look in mirrors now. Every time I see one I see your face, but I have never seen your face like mine, glistening with tears and frowning with bloodshot eyes. And when I speak, it's your voice, full of pain and anguish and broken and hoarse from the nightmares when I watch Colin Creevey and Tonks die over and over again. Sometimes when I saw my reflection I would wait for it to smile, because I thought it was you. The person in the mirror never even lifted the corner of his mouth, and then I knew it wasn't you. Even on the gloomy, dark days you were happy.

Lee used to mess up and say "Fred and George" instead of "just George." I can't get used to the fact that we are no longer Fred and George. We are no longer "we" or "us." It is now "me" and "I." I think Hermione would be pleased I finally understand the principles and importance of grammar and word choice. Speaking of Lee, he and Alicia are now married and have a daughter and another on the way. I was the best man, but at the time of the wedding I was hungover and slept through most of it. Remember how we always used to joke that they would get married? Merlin, I guess we were right. It's okay if I use "we" in the previous sentence, because it's used in the past tense.

Christ, this is bad. I don't know why Shelby thinks this will help.

I think Mum is depressed. Okay, no, I know she is depressed. She tries to stay strong for all us. Dad helps her. Sometimes I find her crying, though, at different times, and I don't know what to do. Your hand on the clock is pointed at "happy" and mine is on "lost." I try to remain scarce around the house and rarely eat meals with the rest of the family. I keep to our room, mostly.

I found your old jumpers in the closet. Great Scott, I don't know if I'd ever cried so much. I started wearing them, too. Ginny thought it was you at first, and I felt like the shittiest brother in the world for getting her hopes up. It'd be mighty impressive magic if you could charm yourself from the dead, just saying. You and Dumbledore should elaborate on it up there.

Everyone knows I'm not taking this well. They know I'm dying. I'd bought a Muggle firearm-a Muggle wand, but it only performs the Killing Curse with a thing called a bullet-and one night in a drunken frenzy I'd held the barrel to my head in the living room in front of everyone. Thank God for Charlie. He Stupefied me and I dropped it. After that, it was Fleur who suggested a therapist, and I go to Shelby's every Tuesday at nine-thirty in the morning for professional counseling.

I haven't cracked a joke in ten months. You must be disappointed in me. Ron is a godsend. He is taking it better than me and his sense of humor is still alive. Everyone, for that matter, is taking it better than me, except for maybe Mum.

Ginny cries a lot. At the funeral I wore my black dragonskin blazer and her tears ruined it and we both cried and we stayed by your headstone for hours. Percy buried you all by himself. He refused to let anyone help. He wanted to make things up for leaving.

Well, the train is leaving now. I'm on the Hogwarts Express. I'm the only one on. Not even the lady who brings the snack trolley is here. It's so lonely.

You've missed a lot in the past ten months, so I ought to fill you in. Ginny is finishing her last year at Hogwarts. Harry is in Auror training. Ron and Hermione are getting married soon. Professor McGonagall is the new headmistress of Hogwarts. Neville is teaching Herbology, if you can imagine, because Professor Sprout retired. And Kingsley Shacklebolt is now the Minister of Magic, and Percy is the Junior Minister of Magic. You'd think the power would go to his already-big head, but it took over four months for Kingsley to convince him to take the offer. Fleur is going to have a baby soon-a little girl, according to the Healers. Charlie is getting married to a girl who played Chaser for Gryffindor when we were first years, and she plays Chaser for England now, too. Themis Zuckafoose. She's made more penalty points than any other Chaser in the world. Quidditch is probably the only thing they have in common, though. Draco Malfoy is in Azkaban right now, serving a year-long sentence. He pleaded guilty. I was at the trial. He tried to commit suicide earlier this year. I'm not the only one with problems, I guess. Oliver Wood is now Keeper for England and he got Katie Bell pregnant a month ago. Remember when they dated at Hogwarts? He's been working in the store some now and he's actually been quite helpful, when he's not talking Quidditch tactics. Everyone is back to normal now. Everyone but me.

Me? I'm dying. I'm lost. The clock says so itself.

Why didn't they take me too? Why the hell couldn't they take me instead?

Angelina came in the store a few days ago. Ron's been working it for me most of the time, but I was there that day and in the break room. He came back and told me she asked to see me, and so I came out and we went to the Leaky Cauldron. She was crying and crying and I didn't know what to do, and she told me she loved you still but you were gone. She told me she gave you her heart and when you died, you took it with you, and left her with a hole in her chest that could never be filled. God, she really misses you.

I hate feeling useless.

Okay, I have a confession to make and I feel bad for keeping it. I'm also going to Hogwarts because Professor McGonagall offered me a job. Next year I am beginning to teach a new class open to third to seventh years. They call the class Defense Against Sorrow, and the course description is that I teach all the things you and I did to become the most cheerful and humorous students to ever walk the halls in Hogwarts. I'm going to see if they can rename the class the Fred Weasley Memorial Instruction. I promise I won't give away the secrets we founded Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes on. I'm teaching students to look on the sunny side. Sounds rather difficult at the moment.

The world won't be the same without you. I sure as hell won't be. But I know you'd be disappointed in me if you could see the things I've been doing, and I'm going to try to make the best of this.

I love you.  
-George

Oi! If you see my ear up there, try talking in it. It might act like some kind of heavenly Extendable Ear. That'd be right wicked!


End file.
